


Self-Sustained Quantum Superposition

by rednihilist



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dissociation, Missing Scene, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednihilist/pseuds/rednihilist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Character study masquerading as filler between Siberia & Raft-rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Sustained Quantum Superposition

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No profit is gained from this writing—only, hopefully, enjoyment.

It's always about starting over. Everything is fresh and familiar, even the awful stuff, even Steve, even fighting. He's great at it, and it feels good to be doing what he was made for, no matter how wrong or evil the nature of the deed. Plausible deniability. No war crimes here, no siree. What a lovely lie, and what a good soldier he is. Singing the party line. 

Could do without the looks, but then he revels in them too, doesn't he? They stare their fill and then some, and it's funny, hilarious, makes him ache to smile, bare his teeth, punch something, go to sleep—go to _sleep_. He always wants to sleep. Steve tells him to lie down, to drink something and re-hydrate, go clean up, but he doesn't. Steve has to have expected that, right? Or maybe not. This is Rogers, after all. What he knows and what he thinks he knows are two different things, mutually exclusive, two ships in the night. He knows Bucky though. Knew Bucky. Knew the him he was back then. Two ships in the dead of night, and one's lights burn brightly. But his don't now.

And what's he supposed to do? How does he scare Steve away without really hurting him? He wants oblivion, and Rogers is never a good kind of quiet or still and never the right kind of distracting, bursting with righteous indignation and impassioned fortitude and suicidal tendencies, and Bucky needs to be as far away from that shit as possible for everyone's sake, far away from Rogers for his sake, far from his causes and his pain and his caustic hopeless hope, that defeatist tone he gets when he's giving a hell of an encouraging speech, rallying the troops to go out in a blaze of glory. Rogers has been the death of him, of himself, more times than he can count, more times than Rogers would admit, but never more than Bucky could remember. He can't forget the bastard. Fry him up, dope him up, play games with him, and he still can't fail in his mission. For this is what he was built for, loyal like only a dog can be. Give him a new master, but he'll always belong to the first.

What kind of person can live up to that? A murderous devotee, worshiping at the altar of Steve, and at least Bucky could say that, could and can always say that loudest of all: he'd been Steve's before Steve was Cap, before everyone else flocked to his siren song. He's always been Steve's, that tiny whirlwind behind Rogers's eyes, scrawny, underfed, mulish Steve, who never would have made it without his mother, without his faithful hound–

"How you doing over there, Buck?" Steve asks from his left.

He's been silent for too long. People talk, chatter. Unsettling when someone like him doesn't say anything. Wilson looks over, Lang never having really stopped. Barton and the girl, Wanda, are off in their own little world, unaware or effectively pretending to be.

"Fine," Bucky says, checking the readings and seeing they're about into Wakandan airspace. "How _you_ doing?" he asks in return.

Lang huffs a laugh, and Wilson turns to give the guy a look.

"Sorry, uh, sorry," Lang says quickly, shrugging. "You just, uh," he adds, looking at Bucky and trying to catch his eyes, "you sounded like every New York stereotype right then. It was—funny."

Wilson's eyebrows stay up, and Steve snorts. Funny. Funny guy.

"Do sound a little more Brooklyn," Steve says quietly.

"You don't," Bucky says without thinking.

Steve only nods though, doesn't seem offended, but Bucky thinks he probably is underneath, somewhere below the act he's putting on for the rest of his team. He's probably right to do so, to hide and present an unruffled front. They're visibly upset, and it's good to maintain rank in stressful situations. A prison break is no laughing matter, regardless of Steve's familiarity with it. Everyone here is an internationally wanted criminal with a powerful agency nipping at their heels. Bucky's used to it, wouldn't know how to act if he weren't always acting hunted, but they aren't him. Got themselves lives, roots, stakes they abandoned, even Steve.

Especially Steve, who has so few. No coming back from—Stark. Maybe. Maybe for Steve, there's hope. For Steve, there's always hope, right? Right up to and even on past the point he decides he's disposable and tosses his shield down. Once in the air, Wilson had leaned over and clapped Steve on the shoulder, said, "God, I'm glad to see this fucking thing! Man with a Plan!" And Steve's face closed down, Steve putting on his face and voice and herding his four ducklings to safety without a single joke or smile or dignified nod.

Steve, who's compromised something, burned a bridge, dropped a shield to do what he knows is the "right thing." People onboard uprooted for Steve, and Steve uprooted for Bucky, and Bucky did nothing to earn it or deserve it. He's an impostor, forged into something from someone Rogers once knew, and "forged" has two meanings, doesn't it? Forgery. Forged metal.

And he can't help it. His eyes dart down to his left, and he automatically flexes, most of him still thinking it's going to be the same arm shifting and moving. Would have been him turning the wrist and flexing, but there's no wrist and no shifting plates to flex, so he gets minimal movement and a whole lot of aborted feedback, a loop that goes out, comes back, and that he keeps reaching for. He shuts his eyes and tries again, and then Steve says, "Buck."

He opens his eyes. "Yeah."

"Is it hurting?" Steve asks, looking over at him.

Bucky shakes his head. "No."

Wilson from behind him makes a noise in his throat. "No?" he repeats, doubtfully.

Bucky blinks and doesn't turn around. "Nope," he says, popping the 'p' just to get that annoyed huff.

Silence, but not the quiet kind, increased tension every time Bucky moves or breathes too loudly. Predictable, unavoidable, and understandable but still irritating. They can't help it, and this is one reason he should avoid—everything, everyone. Has been successfully avoiding it all for two years. Limited access. Nothing got in for two years, and nothing he did got out. He was good.

It could be good again. He can disappear. It will be fine.

So of course Lang opts to fill the silence with an asinine, "Man, I don't know, but that's got to be really weird, right? Like, it's been your arm for decades, and now it's gone too– hey! Whoa!" Lang's cut off by Wilson's shove, which kind of makes him want to laugh.

"Tact," Wilson says. "It's a thing. Learn it."

From the back, Barton suddenly calls out, "I like this guy more than the other motormouth, Cap!" Then quieter, more serious, "Just sayin'."

"You could learn some too, birdbrain," Wilson tosses back. "How 'bout we save the emotional hits for when we're on solid ground? Is that so hard?"

"Yeah," Lang says, "wouldn't want to actually work through any of this stuff while it's actually on the table, would we?" And despite the glare even Bucky can feel Wilson leveling at him, Lang continues, "Nothing like putting off the inevitable, right?"

"Can it, Tic Tac."

Barton asks, "And, hey, where do you get off calling me birdbrain?"

"Wherever I want to," is Wilson's reply.

"Children," Steve says, all calm distance.

This is familiar, the bickering of people living too close together for too long. Caged up, there's no privacy, and weakness is tamped down in favor of looking strong for the others, maintaining the façade. Collective strength. A shower and a shit by themselves, a bed they think no one's watching them sleep in, a set of clothes and a hot meal and a sunny day, these are things most people take for granted, probably even these people, but not so much anymore, maybe not again for awhile. He wants to feel bad for them, and if he were a better person he would, for Wilson who's a decent guy, for Barton who somehow managed to start and keep a complete family, for Lang who seems strangely happy about digging himself deeper into the pit, and for Wanda, even Wanda, who he can't look at without seeing someone else's stamp all over her. And, sure, Wanda's maybe still a kid, and even jaded Barton is a special case, all of them following Steve's lead, but they signed up for this, agreed to it, consented. They knew, or should have considered beforehand, what the consequences could be. Fact is, Bucky isn't a good person, maybe never was. He knows sympathy is what he needs to convey. Good enough.  

"Holy shit!" Lang whispers, once they're low enough that more than green misty jungle is visible. "This is so fucking cool!"

No one else says anything, but they're all looking out, their breathing faster, excited, relieved, anxious, maybe loopy from the ride and the fact they haven't been outside for awhile and even withdrawal from whatever drug cocktails Ross had them on.

Steve lands the jet smoothly, and Bucky shouldn't find that funny. Then the back hatch is opening and the ducklings groan and stretch and stand, bumping into each other, Wilson lightly shoving Lang and Lang holding up his hands like he's being arrested. Barton chuckles, and Wilson huffs and probably rolls his eyes, and Wanda says absolutely nothing. Quiet, isn't she? And maybe he should feel something like understanding for that too, but he doesn't.  

"Home again," Steve offers, aiming for light and sarcastic and failing miserably. He shouldn't find that funny either.  

Bucky nods, waits for him to finish. When Steve starts unbuckling, so does he, the right side more difficult, and he can feel Steve poised to help, but Bucky derives some sick pleasure in not asking and not making eye contact and not speaking. This is how to push Steve away, how to separate and disentangle himself from him, how to take that passion and drain it: Bucky doesn't act like Steve's Bucky Barnes, doesn't put on a show. Instead, he pulls back the curtain, the wizard revealed as nothing more than a conman. And it's familiar, Bucky thinks, but not funny, this dance they've danced before. Steve will realize and gradually back off. And Bucky will be gone inside a week. Oblivion.


End file.
